Page 26

Great.

“You have a son,” he says after a moment.

“I do.”

Crickets.

“Is that a problem?” I ask.

“Why would it be a problem?” he asks. Then, “Who is Margaret?”

The change in conversation startles me a little, and I blink. “She’s a…friend of the family. An old friend. She’s been around since before Mission Events was even established. Before my mom died.”

“So you’ve known her your entire life,” he presumes.

“I have. She’s like…” I squint my eyes to find the right word. “Like that wild and fun aunt you have, you know? The one with the cool house and the crazy clothes who lets you play dress-up in her closet and eat ice cream for dinner while watching shows you probably shouldn’t be watching? Except we didn’t get to play dress-up in her closet because most of her things are from Versace and Valentino.”

Something in his expression softens a little, and Marcus’s eyes skid about my face, making me suddenly aware of how close we are. His leg nudges mine under the table, and I feel his fingertips brush my knee; it only solidifies the proximity even more.

“I like her,” he says. “More than anyone else in the room, I think.”

“Me too…” I say, my throat feeling suddenly very dry.

“Well, almost anyone…” he says, and I swear his fingertips are traveling north.

What is he doing? Is he doing what I think he’s doing? We can’t do this. Not here. Not at all! And yet…fuck…

I know Marcus can sense what his touch is doing to me because a small smirk is playing at the corners of his lips. Just feeling his touch again is enough to unravel me, and he hasn’t even gotten close to my most sensitive parts…yet…

“I wonder where that dessert is?” I stutter, swallowing hard. Because rambling is what I do when I’m flustered.

“I think I know exactly where it is,” he says as his fingers tuck under my dress, edging up more and more. Instinctively my knees open slightly.

“Ash…” I whisper, and his eyes grow wild, probably because I used that name.

Suddenly the kitchen door flies open and Reese is standing there with some kind of crème brûlée situation and a startled pout on her face.

“Where did everyone go?” she asks, looking around the room frantically. It gives Marcus and me enough time to pull away from each other, both of us reaching for our drinks.

“They were thirsty,” I say quickly. “They needed air.”

“Speaking of that,” Marcus says, shoving up from his chair. “I need to get going.”

“But dessert…” Reese says.

“I’m particular about my sweets,” Marcus says before looking back at me. “Miss Blythe, I believe I am your ride?”

I blink. “I–”

“Your driver called out.”

Confused, I get up.

Garrett comes out of the kitchen, nearly hitting Reese with the door. “Did everyone eat all the dessert yet, because I am craving–”

Reese spins around and nearly throws it at him. “They don’t want it!” she snaps, and the tray hits the floor. “I need a drink…”

While this might all seem sitcom-level crazy, it’s normal in my eyes and my attention is elsewhere.